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His After-Hours Mistress
AMANDA BROWNING
Determined not to become another notch on her boss's bedpost!When her boss, Rourke Adams, approaches her with an after-hours assignment, Ginny is stunned. Rourke wants her to pretend to be his girlfriend for a whole week!Rourke has chosen Ginny because he considers his employee strictly off-limits. But sparks fly when they're forced together, and Ginny becomes his after-hours mistress…. Is this just a no-strings affair, or does Rourke have another longer-term assignment in mind?
“I need you to go to my sister’s wedding with me…as my lover.” Having broached the subject, Rourke quickly regained his composure.
“What?” she gasped out, sure she must have misheard somehow.
“I want you to attend the wedding with me.”
She had that part—it was the other she took exception to. “As your lover?”
Rourke hastily held up a hand to forestall the protests he knew were hovering on her lips. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I need you to pretend to be my lover….”
It used to be just a nine-to-five job….
Until she realized she was
Now it’s an after-hours affair!
Getting to know him in the boardroom…
and the bedroom!
Coming soon:
The Parisian Playboy
by
Helen Brooks
Harlequin Presents #2352
On sale in October
His After-Hours Mistress
Amanda Browning
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
GINNY HARTE jumped at the sudden sound of a crash from the office next door, and glanced round to frown at the closed door which linked the two offices. As far as she was aware, her fellow director of the family-owned chain of hotels, Roarke Adams, was still at lunch. Her fingers paused over the keypad of her PC as she waited for another noise. There followed the distinct sound of something large, probably the wastepaper basket, hitting a wall. An unholy grin slowly spread across her face. All had not gone well, it seemed. What a shame. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, she thought, with a wry grimace.
Pushing back her chair, she rose gracefully to her feet, walked round the desk and headed for the closed door and the momentarily silent room. She was tall, even without her three-inch heels. Slim yet curvaceous, she had flashing green eyes, and the tempestuous nature her thick swathe of red hair indicated. Experience, however, had taught her to keep it in check and now, at the age of twenty-six, she presented a cool, calm demeanour to the outside world.
She had worked alongside Roarke Adams for a little over a year now, ever since his grandfather, the owner of the hotels, had hired her to co-ordinate the modernisation and decorating of the various properties. All other aspects of the business fell into Roarke’s court, but when he bought a new property it was up to her to decide what was needed to bring it into line with the other hotels. When he did his regular tours of the hotels she went with him to oversee any planned redecoration, and they had a surprisingly good working relationship. Which was nothing short of amazing considering the fact that they didn’t actually like each other.
It had taken under a month for them to sum each other up and decide the other was wanting. Battle lines had therefore been drawn and their verbal exchanges had become a source of much interest and amusement to the staff. Skirmishes occurred on a daily basis unless one or other of them was out of the office. Roarke never missed an opportunity to get in a dig at her and, as she had never been one to refuse a fight, she gave as good as she got.
She knew he thought she had ice-water in her veins instead of blood. He didn’t believe she had an ounce of passion in her whole body, and wouldn’t know what to do with a real man. He viewed Daniel, her boyfriend, with open mockery because he was everything Roarke was not. Loyal, steadfast, undemanding. OK, so it wasn’t a passionate relationship, but Ginny had trodden that path once, allowing her passions to rule her head, and it had led to disaster. It wasn’t a road she intended to travel again. Daniel was what she wanted now, and she was pretty sure he was going to propose soon. When he did, she had every intention of accepting him.
If her lifestyle was a joke to her co-director, his was only worthy of her scorn. Roarke, in her opinion, was little more than an unprincipled womaniser. Women went in and out of his life in a more or less constant stream. Like a modern-day Casanova. Any woman who came within range was fair game to him, and even the strongest of them turned to jelly when he looked at them with his glittering eyes and disarming smile. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if he didn’t carve a notch on his bedpost for every woman he seduced.
Though she didn’t care for his love-them-and-leave-them lifestyle, she knew he was generous and knew how to treat a woman well, whilst his interest remained. And, to be fair, he never approached married women, or those who were otherwise spoken for. Roarke had a code of sorts. He only played the game with those women who knew the rules, and he never became involved with the women who worked for him. His life had two distinct areas, and the one only spilled into the other when she had to console the latest cast-off. A job she did not enjoy.
She had made her disapproval clear but, rather than taking offence, Roarke had been amused by it. He had mockingly informed her he wasn’t going to be reprimanded by a strait-laced harridan. So it had begun, and that was the state of affairs between them now as she reached the connecting door. A wise woman might have drawn back, but Ginny recognised an opportunity when it presented itself. There was no way she could work on without knowing what had happened, so she reached for the door handle.
Pushing the door open, she had to duck hastily as an object hurtled in her direction. Straightening up, she stared down at the pencils which littered the floor around her like so much strange confetti, then back at the man who now stood immobile by the desk.
Honesty compelled Ginny to admit Roarke was, without doubt, the best-looking man she had ever seen. At thirty-two he was in his prime. Tall and leanly muscular, he had thick black hair, roguishly laughing grey eyes, and a mouth that could quirk into a smile to take the breath away. Right this minute, though, he wasn’t smiling. On the contrary, his expression most closely approximated thunderous. It caused her lips to twitch.
‘Nice lunch?’ she enquired jauntily, and caught his fingers flexing as if he wished they were around something—like her neck.
His fine nostrils flared as he took a steadying breath. ‘No, I have not had a nice lunch. In fact, I’ve just had the worst few hours of my life!’
‘Don’t tell me some little air-head actually had the sense to say no to you,’ she drawled with heavy irony, and in a lightning mood swing he grinned at her.
‘I don’t date air-heads, sweetheart. I much prefer intelligent women; you know that,’ Roarke drawled back, watching through glittering eyes as she squatted down and began to collect up the pencils. The process caused her skirt to ride up her thighs. ‘Nice legs,’ he murmured approvingly, then as she shot a narrow-eyed glare his way he changed tack. ‘Did I hit you?’ he asked with less than genuine concern, and Ginny snorted as she retrieved the holder and stood up again.
‘No, but I might just hit you if you don’t keep your eyes to yourself,’ she warned as she set the holder on the nearest bookcase and folded her arms.
‘It’s your own fault for being so easy on the eye. A man just can’t help himself,’ he told her ironically.
He was flirting with her, a tactic he had used from time to time when he wanted to irritate her more than usual. She ignored it—as usual. ‘Well, a man had better try,’ she added firmly.
Roarke slipped his hands into the trouser pockets of his fashionable Italian designer suit, and rocked back on his heels. ‘You’re a hard woman. Does anything get through to you? Do you feel passion? Do you even know what it is? What about Daniel? How does that relationship work? Is he even allowed to kiss you, or does he go home each evening aching with frustration, whilst you sleep soundly in your virginal bed?’
Ginny kept her cool and raised her eyebrows at him mockingly. ‘You don’t really expect me to answer that, just because you’re in a foul mood?’
‘No, I expected you to up and slap my face. Why didn’t you?’
She gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘Probably because it was what you wanted,’ she responded dryly and he laughed.
‘You’re learning, sweetheart. There’s hope for you yet,’ he taunted as he sauntered over to the window and looked out at the city below them.
‘I’m not your sweetheart, Roarke. It isn’t a situation I would ever aspire to occupy,’ Ginny countered, though she didn’t expect it to have any more effect than her previous attempts to have him stop calling her by the affectionate term.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘A man could get frostbite trying to warm you up. Daniel has all my sympathy.’
Ginny silently ground her teeth at his insolence. ‘Fortunately, Daniel doesn’t need it,’ she said, which caused him to smile.
‘No, he’s pretty much a cold fish himself.’
She looked at him steadily. ‘I don’t find him in the least bit cold. There’s a lot to the old adage that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.’
‘Which could equally apply to me, sweetheart,’ Roarke pointed out, but Ginny immediately shook her head.
‘Oh, no, you’re an open book, Roarke. Everyone knows the plot where you’re concerned. The wise ones put you back on the shelf,’ she retorted mockingly, whereupon his eyes gleamed with mischief.
‘Maybe, but the ones who don’t have a much better time.’
Ginny shook her head sadly. ‘You’re incorrigible, and I have more important things to do with my time than waste it bandying words with you,’ she told him bluntly, and made to leave, but Roarke held up a hand to forestall her.
‘That can wait. Shut the door and sit down. I need to talk to you,’ he commanded. His words were without a trace of his earlier mockery, and yet carried an edge of unease. Sensing something intriguing in the air, Ginny dutifully closed the door.
‘I thought you didn’t consider me qualified to be an agony aunt,’ she remarked as she stepped over various objects which had borne the brunt of his temper.
‘One of these days you’re going to cut yourself on that tongue of yours!’ Roarke warned her. ‘Doesn’t anything blunt it?’
‘If you’re after sympathy, you’ve come to the wrong woman,’ she told him matter-of-factly. ‘Just because you didn’t get your own way for once, there’s no need to destroy the place. So you met a woman with a brain cell or two. It was bound to happen some time.’
Roarke tutted reprovingly. ‘You know something, Ginny? You’re fixated with my love life. Who said this has anything to do with a woman?’
Now that did surprise her. Roarke was like a magnet for women. He didn’t look dressed without one on his arm. That didn’t mean to say he didn’t work hard at the business. It wouldn’t be among the top in its line if he didn’t. But he played hard, too. She had listened to his tales of woe before, and a woman generally entered the picture at some point. But apparently not this time, if he was to be believed.
‘It doesn’t?’ she queried, brows rising. If she had done him an injustice, then she was prepared to apologise, however much it went against the grain. She was about to open her mouth to do just that when his eyes fell away from hers and he rubbed an irritated hand around his neck.
‘Actually, it is about a woman, but not the way you imagine,’ he admitted reluctantly.
Intrigued by the palpable signs of his discomfort, Ginny slipped into the nearest chair and crossed her legs, decorously smoothing down the skirt of her violet-coloured suit. She had discarded the jacket earlier, and wore a simple cream silk sleeveless blouse for comfort in the oppressive summer heat.
‘What do you imagine I’m imagining?’ she challenged, her eyes following him as he walked to his leather chair and sank into it with a heavy sigh.
‘The worst. You usually do,’ Roarke shot back dryly, and Ginny laughed softly.
She spread her hands deprecatingly. ‘Well, you’ve only yourself to blame for that. You’ve never had to console one of your exes. The tales I’ve heard make me shudder to think of them.’ She gave a delicate shudder by way of example.
‘Don’t believe everything you hear. It isn’t my fault if they got their hopes up. I never promised them for ever,’ Roarke pointed out in his own defence.
‘That’s what I told them. He isn’t a one-woman kind of man. You’d be better off cutting your losses and looking around for someone with more staying power,’ Ginny agreed.
His brows rose at that, and then he laughed. ‘You’re referring, I take it, to that part of my life which I, clearly mistakenly, consider private. Hasn’t anyone ever told you you aren’t supposed to interfere in your employer’s love life?’
‘Your love life ceases to be private when you live it so publicly. Why, scarcely a day goes by when you aren’t photographed with one woman or another hanging on your arm! Your little black book must be bursting at the seams by now,’ she protested scornfully.
Roarke steepled his fingers and looked at her over them. ‘If I had one, which I don’t.’
‘No little black book? I don’t believe it. Your sort of man always has one!’
‘And just what sort of man is that?’
Ginny waved a hand airily. ‘The sort who changes his woman as often as he changes his clothes.’
He tapped his thumbs together broodingly. ‘I suppose a denial is out of the question?’
She shook her head. ‘Hard to accept when I’ve seen the results of your handiwork.’
Roarke rubbed a finger down the bridge of his nose, then glanced at her sardonically. ‘You disapprove of everything about me, don’t you?’
‘Not everything, just your treatment of women.’
‘You make me sound like some sort of playboy.’
‘Your affairs are well catalogued in print,’ she reminded him.
He clucked his tongue at her. ‘The women you see me photographed with are, for the most part, old friends. I’m often invited to events where I require a partner, and I’d rather take a woman I know than find myself seated next to a stranger. We spend an enjoyable evening together, and then I take her home. End of story.’
Ginny looked sceptical. ‘You can’t mean to tell me all your dates end so tamely,’ she scoffed, and he grinned wolfishly.
‘Not at all, but that’s my business, not yours.’
She couldn’t argue with him there. She was walking a fine line as it was. However, there was one thing she was curious about. ‘Haven’t you ever considered finding one woman and sticking to her? Haven’t you ever been in love?’
That brought a mocking laugh from him. ‘No, and I don’t ever expect to be. In my experience, happy ever after is just a fairy tale, sweetheart,’ he pronounced and she blinked, genuinely surprised.
‘You don’t believe in love?’
‘What most people fall into is lust, though they prefer to give it the name love because it sounds better.’ Seeing her frown, Roarke leant forward across the desk. ‘I respect women for who and what they are. I enjoy them, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep, and I refuse to dress up the relationship as anything more than what it is.’
Ginny supposed she had to think well of him for that, but it was strange to her to hear him speak that way about love. Despite her own experiences, she still believed in love. She had just made the wrong choice, that was all. This time she wasn’t about to let herself be blinded by passion into thinking love existed. Daniel was everything she wanted in a man, and she was sure that her liking for him would grow into love in the fullness of time.
‘Don’t you intend to get married and have children?’ she couldn’t help but ask curiously.
Sitting back again, Roarke shrugged. ‘Sure, one day, but love will have nothing to do with it.’
‘Your wife might disagree.’
